


Edges

by MiniKoontzy



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 23:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniKoontzy/pseuds/MiniKoontzy
Summary: Sent to Earth as a "community service" punishment for his war crimes, Megatron (now Galvatron) ponders why he so enjoys edges atop the Williamsburg Bridge -- and unwittingly attracts some attention.





	Edges

Edges.

He had always had a tendency to play loose with edges, toying with the idea of where that cut-off really was. He had enjoyed seeing just how far past that edge he could get before someone stopped him. He never stopped himself -- where was the thrill in that? Further and further he pushed himself over lines, edges, limits. Maybe that was why he'd taken a liking to standing on real, physical edges. During the War, Soundwave would occasionally find him standing on the flight deck of the Nemesis, right on the edge, when he wanted some peace and quiet away from the bedlam inside. But on this planet, a world as tiny and fragile as its inhabitants, getting that same thrill had proven impossible. He was simply too large, the world too small, and the Nemesis could only provide so much. That had all changed of course -- mostly. Now that he stood six foot two and not twenty some feet, the tips of the study black combat boots, well-worn and battered through clever manipulation, hanging over the edge of one of the towers of the Williamsburg Bridge, he could feel that thrill again. It was no cloud-scraping Vosian spire but it served its purpose. The questions returned.

Would he fall? Would he _enjoy_ the fall?

That drug, Uncertainty, was back. He would never give it up again. What was life without a little danger, a little healthy fear?

He peered down through red eyes that, according to Wasp, emitted light of their own in the dark. Vehicles and people buzzed along the suspended road below. It was early morning; no doubt many were en route to their work establishments. The distance to the street was easily three hundred feet at a rough estimate, and the winds at such a height buffeted around him at near gale force speeds, sending the heavy grey trench coat's tails flailing. The winds were tinted with a chill, but with his tactile net protected by the body armor, he felt no cold. At every gust he moved with the winds, but also pushed back. To fall, but not to yield. Hands, calloused and scarred as reminders of his time in the mines, stayed shoved into the coat's deep pockets. Smiling, he let the wind keep pushing him forward, pushing back at it just enough for him to teeter, the heavy black combat armor further acting as a ballast. He liked the rush being right on the tip of an edge brought, liked the threat of a fall when he knew he could not fall. Though he did not possess the complex response chemicals of his new allies, the thrill he now felt was as near to an adrenaline rush as he, a Cybertronian warmonger famed for his intolerance of fear, could possibly get. It brought innocent invigoration he never knew he had abandoned flooding into his systems. Enough to make him modestly dizzy.

Through the delightful vertigo he inched forward. To _feel_ again.

' _Do you not think_ ,' the Voice teased, ' _that you are pushing your luck with this habit of yours?_ '

His smile grew. The single scar on his cheek that canted down at a rowdy angle moved with it.

"I do not think I am pushing it enough," he answered.

The Voice sighed. Then it chuckled. Did he realize, the Voice wondered, that it was his constant shoving at fortuity that had led to his fall?

Of course! he replied. That was what made it so interesting.

' _Child, you are impossible_.'

" _You_ are impossible," he retorted in a petulant voice un-suiting of the graying hair his holo-form possessed.

' _...Really?_ ' it chided.

A car horn honked. He ignored it. There had been roughly twenty seven of those obnoxious noises in the past half hour.

"Tha hell do ya think you're doin up there, ya moron?!" a great war-horn of a voice bellowed from beneath him. "Get ya feathered ass down before the cops come to haul ya ass in!"

That was a voice print he did not recognize. Curious, he removed himself from the edge, strolled over to the opposite edge of the tower, and looked down. He did not see the owner right away, but the new voice shouted again. There! A powerfully built man with skin like plated stone. Blue eyes far gentler than his rough appearance and voice peered up at him. His smile became a fully evolved grin. He retaliated, quick and sharp like a fencer's blade:

"You make it sound as if they can catch me!"

The rock-armored man glowered up at him.

"Don't chu make me send Susie up there!"

"She is more than welcome to join me!"

The growling howl of aggravation was a pleasure to hear. He heeded not the Voice's chastisement. Vexing this hero was far too amusing.

"Get down from there or so help me I'll come up there and drag ya ass down myself!"

He flung his head back and laughed. This hero was terrible when it came to issuing threats, for as powerful as his voice and form was there was a gentleness to him and, truth be told, he felt a twinge of guilt over his verbal spar in light of it. So, he backed away from the edge towards the center of the tower. The thrill faded. He removed the trench coat to let his great black wings, more mobile than anything a Vosian Seeker could dream of, taste the wind. With the trench coat off, he began to feel some of the cold nip at his exposed lower arms. He broke into a sprint, spreading his wings out as far as they would go. The thrill came charging back.

Reaching the edge, he jumped.

Down

Down

Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was a short one-shot/vignette from my DeviantArt page that got a Daily Deviation.


End file.
